Lunacy Booth
by Psychic City
Summary: Russel makes the band enroll in therapy sessions after noting a few off things about the lot of them. But what's up Murdoc's sleeve? Is Noodle keeping her feelings for 2D secret? And perhaps there's something far more off about 2D than meets the eye. 2DxN
1. Cornflower Blue

**Psychic City:** I'm playing with a new concept for a new story, so let me know what you think about this one in a review! I will update as soon as possible and I'll keep a look out for all the feedback I get! Please let me know what you think- it definitely keeps me motivated!

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**Chapter One:**  
**Cornflower Blue**

Murdoc Niccals gritted his crooked teeth. He smelled fresh air, roses, and a hint of overwhelming male cologne that made him wrinkle his nose and swear pretentiously under his breath. Around him, the cheerful view of cornflower blue wallpaper leaned in on him. He took in the unsightly decorative collaboration of polished windows, dramatically drawn curtains, and silence in disgust. Wrinkling his nose, he labeled the scenery as 'quaint' and decided that he'd rather bleed to death than spend another minute within the contents of the four barricading walls before him. Though, all things considered, Murdoc hadn't really given the area much of a chance to begin with. From the very moment he'd walked into the half-lit building, he could tell he was not going to like it there.

Still, he'd been making his obvious dissatisfaction as blunt as possible for the sake of Russel, the drummer, who had been sitting nearest him quietly with his meaty black hands in the pit of his lap. Coming to the God forsaken place had been his idea to begin with in the first place, after all, much to Murdoc's initial refusal. Though Russel Hobbs hadn't taken Murdoc's 'no' as much as an obstacle, either. Sure, when Russel had mentioned therapy sessions, Murdoc had truly thought he'd been only kidding. In fact, he had even managed to announce out loud, "you must be joking!" before Russel had pelted him across the head with one of his massive clenched-up fists.

So now, Murdoc sat with a twisted up face, one cocky attitude, and a massive swell on the side of his head that, admittedly, still hurt one week after the incident. Arms crossed, he thought to himself, "fuck Russel," but only sighed aloud to further get his point across. Besides, the moment the large man had mentioned 'group therapy', he had already had somewhat of an idea towards what he was getting himself in to. Murdoc Faust Niccals, he didn't do 'therapy' and, for that matter, didn't do 'feelings', either.

But Russel Hobbs knew this and, despite the fact, he swiveled his large white eyes in Murdoc's direction and shot him an angry glare for a matter of what only lasted a few short moments. A slightly overjoyed rise in Murdoc's chest permitted the prideful feeling of accomplishment inside of him; sure, he'd come along for Russel's little therapy brigade, but he'd still managed to piss him off during the starting duration of it. And yet, grimily, he decided that pushing Russel's buttons would be all the more fun while they were waiting for the silly therapist anyways.

"So, uhh, Russ," Murdoc mused, using a tone that was all the more bored and monotonous, "enlighten me. Why's it were here again?"

Russel's arm gave a little twitch and Murdoc suppressed a fit of chuckles when he'd noticed the strain it had taken for Russel not to lean over and hit him. Of course, the week it had taken to actually drag Murdoc, Noodle, and 2D to the therapist's office had taken quite a toll on the man. Although, despite taking a stern roll in doing so, Russel had also attempted actually practicing being calm about the situation as well. Murdoc, however, had scrutinized this and had quickly taken the opportunity to try and break Russel as if doing so was a sport. He'd gotten quite good at the game, too. In fact, he'd managed to dodge any sort of confrontation from Russel fairly smoothly over the past seven days. Mentally, Murdoc tallied up the score. Murdoc Niccals: 7; Russel Hobbs: a hilariously pathetic 0.

"I'm sure you can figure it out, Murdoc," Russel said finally in a slight whisper. He spoke from the corner of his mouth so as not to distract the few other patients waiting solemnly in the room around the rest of them. Then, conclusively, he shut his lips and pressed his head backwards, as if speaking at all was too much of a task for him to carry out in the first place.

The green-skinned Satanist smiled cheekily to himself. "Humor me, Big Guy," he continued, thrusting out his arms wildly, "I couldn't possibly think up the answer anyways- not with all this floral fogging me vision, you know? I'm only human, for fuck's sake."

At the vicariously loud choice of words, Russel winced in his falsely peaceful stature. Yet, despite Murdoc's carelessness, he opted to ignore the childish man altogether. Thus, he continued to feign serenity and moved his heavy palm to Noodle's purple head, smoothing away her hair in a fatherly manner before returning back to his personal state of being.

Check. Murdoc counted himself another point before smiling victoriously to himself and returning to the waiting room moodily.

Prideful, Murdoc's slender fingers dug down into the pocket of his old trousers and slipped out his trusty packet of fags. Nonchalantly, he pried the pack open, slipped the half-yellow stick between his eager lips, and lit the thing up with an overjoyed flick of his lighter. There came a heavy huff from across the room and Murdoc's eyes found the frame of a frail old woman seated across from him. She was as old as Death and looked almost statuesque in all her stiff-postured glory. To her disapproval, Murdoc shot her a classy little wink and blew the smoke sideways out of the corner of his snazzy curled up smile. Still, from the other end of Russel, Noodle poked her head out from next to him. Glaring, she gazed ruthlessly at Murdoc's smoldering cigarette. And despite the love Murdoc truly did have for the young girl, he had to admit that she was quite certainly going to loose this battle. But Noodle seemed to realize this too and, bitterly, she slumped back into her own waiting room seat and crossed her own slender arms stiffly across her chest.

Of course, he really had some sort of idea why the drummer had considered therapy to be the only option for the four of them. Somewhere in the man's speech explaining his decision, Murdoc had remembered him mentioning that they didn't get along and far too often butted heads. Russel Hobbs had said someplace in the midst of it all, "Murdoc, you certainly do not help matters," and pointed an accusatory finger straight in Murdoc's direction. _Pfft._ Help matters? Murdoc Niccals did not need to help any matters. He could run the show as he pleased- this was, in fact, his band. His band, his rules. Why the others did not seem to grasp that concept was a matter that Murdoc could never truly understand. It wasn't as if it was that difficult.

For the second time in the afternoon, Murdoc let his eyes wander the pitiful space. He saw nothing but hopeless souls with the looks of depressed children etched on their faces. The lot of them looked miserable, as if they hadn't smiled in years. And, though Murdoc wasn't particularly against sadness and depression, the notion of self-loathing surely was not his scene. Still, he couldn't overlook the absent figure of the blue haired man in the room, either. With a bitter grumble, Murdoc turned to the ash tray at his left and discarded a hefty amount of ash into it. "Bloody bastard," he grumbled, looking back up at Russel for good measure, "'ey, wot did ol' 2D get a 'get out of jail free' card with this one, hm? I don't see his unfortunate mug around here with us."

Russel's mouth gave a slight jerk. "He's coming," he replied, though he added forcefully, "he'd better be..." much to Murdoc's further appreciation.

If someone as stupid as Stu Pot had figured out that he could just play hooky on this counseling ordeal than he, Murdoc Niccals, had felt like a right moron. Simply not showing up to Russel's therapy ordeal would have been ideal, though Murdoc had been at least smart enough to try and avoid yet another break to his already suffering nose. However, the thought of Stu facing Russel for not showing up gave Murdoc a slight sense of happiness for the time being. Sure, he had to be here- but at least he'd have something worth looking forward to when he'd returned home to Kong in a matter of hours.

However, putting down any sense of future joy towards Murdoc Niccals, the front door of the therapy office building crept open. Russel's eyes apprehensively snapped open and Noodle once again peeked out from behind the barrier of Russel's rounded stomach. In the doorframe, 2D poked his pale face into the room in search of his band mates before turning around quietly and placing the door shut back behind him. Russel growled angrily from his seat in the waiting room and, nervously, 2D's hands plummeted their way into the depths of his trousers.

Quite honestly, 2D looked like a right mess. His shaggy head of uncontrollable blue hair struck out in all different directions and his jeans were rolled up at two different lengths at his shins. He wore a silly striped shirt and looked as if he'd half-assedly thrown over a thin raincoat last minute. However, he sent Russel an apologetic smile before hastily taking his seat next to Murdoc and shakily smoothing the rain from his messy blue hair. "'Bout fucking time, faceache" Murdoc slurred at the slumped over man, who glanced up with another sorry smile. Stuart Pot, slumped in his little chair, stared aghast at his own pair of black and white Saddle Shoes with an eternally sincere grimace that made Murdoc slightly sick.

"I-I over slept. An' then I go' lost," he whispered sincerely, digging his hand out of his pocket. "I wrote the directions on me palm, but the rain washed it off." Then, to further prove that he was telling the truth, 2D pushed his skinny hand out in front of Murdoc, revealing to him the dripping constellation of wet ink that ran down the front of his arm and had begun to bleed against his wrist.

"Idiot," Murdoc hissed, but 2D had fumbled his ink stained hand back into his trouser pocket and tried his best to blend in with the surroundings as fittingly as possible. In all honesty, Murdoc had taken to looking forward to seeing 2D cornered by Russel, and though he'd quite enjoyed the fact that 2D's appearance meant that the singer would, too, suffer, it also meant that Murdoc would not get to have anything to look forward to.

In his quick moment of wonder, Murdoc thought back to the night that Russel had come home with his suggestion of therapy one week ago. Somewhere along the line, Murdoc had managed to give 2D's black eye a matching mate and, all things considered, it might have been what set Russel off in the first place. Though, it had been only one year after they had split up at the hotel room and Murdoc was surprised that the four of them had even found one another again. Besides, after having almost choked 2D to death there, he'd at least have expected Russel to have noted that he had, for the most part, contained himself.

Things had been a bit hostile, admittedly. After the four of them had all returned on their own to Kong, Murdoc's frustration with Russel, Noodle, and especially 2D had grown over the past couple years. And his patience was wearing thin. With their first album out and critically appraised, they'd set out to record 'Demon Days', which was, quite frankly, somewhere between filming music videos and half conceived concepts. Though Murdoc had to admit he'd been impressed with what Noodle had come up with, he was pretty certain that he was about to slowly loose his mind in the process.

And, as always, 2D hadn't been helping the situation, either. What, with the pressure of the new album, his migraines had just about tripled over the past couple of months and that certainly put quite a hold on the band's progression. Though Murdoc had noticed the casual oddities about his other two band mates, as well. Russel had not stopped hallucinating and Noodle had seemed to pick up a slight fancy towards 2D. The poor girl's crush had gone unnoticed, of course, by the half-wit dullard himself. Murdoc, on the other hand, was freshly positive that the lot of them had lost their minds long ago.

But then, perhaps Russel hadn't been far too off his rocker when he'd brought therapy up demandingly. He too had noticed Noodle's fascination with the mindless singer and, though he didn't mention it, it was certainly implied. And, 2D had always probably needed professional help anyways.

Still pitifully grumpy, Murdoc once again returned his focus to the most demented of the three. 2D hadn't looked up from his shoes since he'd pathetically taken his seat with his tail between his legs. "_Psst," _Murdoc both yelled and whispered dually for the sake of further pissing Russel off, "_psst, _oi, 'D." The singer glanced up finally, meeting Murdoc's mismatched eyes with his own vacant and black stare. True to the man's character, he seemed truly unfazed by the lit cigarette between Murdoc's fingers and, for that matter, looked upon it with a feeling of slight longing and envy, for he had only just noticed the thing to begin with. Though, Murdoc wasn't about to offer him one and, either way, he knew 2D would have far too much courtesy to smoke it anyways.

Nonetheless, 2D raised his eyebrow and whispered generously, "yeah?"

Murdoc tossed his head to the side, gesturing at the wall clock with full force. "Have any idea 'ow long this is going to take?"

2D shrugged. "I dunno," he replied. "I think Russ said something about it lasting a couple of weeks of somefink..."

Murdoc sighed. "I'm talking about one session, dullard," he bemused, but the blank expression on 2D's rain-splattered face made him drop the subject entirely. Instead, he jabbed up at the wallpaper with the end of his fag and grumbled grittily, "cornflower blue. What kind of moron puts up cornflower blue wallpaper, anyway?"

2D scrutinized the walls. "I dunno," he shrugged, looking back at Murdoc cautiously, "lightens the mood?"

"It sure as hell doesn't lighten the mood," Murdoc huffed in a matter-of-fact sort of manner. "It's depressing! Just like the rest of this putrid joint." Then he lowered his voice to an honest whisper so that only 2D could hear him audibly. He cocked his chin up in the blue haired man's direction and put on a serious face, purely for the sake of messing with him. "In fact, I'd always keep one eye open 'round 'ere if I was you, man," he said slowly. "You never know around these crazies. Next thing you know- _bam!- _of of 'em whips out a pistol and its six feet under for the likes of you. Dead serious, mate." Stuart Pot stiffened. His pair of black and blue eyes widened and he scanned the wreckage of miserable patients as if he were trying to figure out exactly which one of them would be the first to snap. Finally satisfied to the point of relaxation, Murdoc lifted a hand and clamped it down hard on 2D's shoulder, making the kid wince. "Yep," Murdoc sighed, "one eye open..."

"Watch it, Muds," Russel hissed. He had opened his eyes and had taken to a brand new fit of staring at the pitiful blue wallpaper in front of him.

"Oi, come off it, Russel," Murdoc snapped and, much to his amusement, Russel turned away and balled up his fists rapidly into the thighs of his jeans. Nonetheless, Murdoc turned back to 2D, still ready to have fun with the man's gullibility. Yet he became distracted however, by the small square book that he had not noticed resting in 2D's tight grip. Instantly, Murdoc recognized it as 2D's diary. The private booklet was something that Murdoc had skimmed through on multiple occasions without 2D's knowledge, of course. From it, Murdoc had managed to find out a multitude of valuable information about the singer and, due to 2D's continual unawareness, the book had still come in handy whenever Murdoc needed something spectacular to frighten him with. Murdoc made a swift little grab in 2D's direction and lifted the book from his possession immediately. Analyzing it, he asked, "you brought your diary?"

Fumbling, Stuart leaned over, making unsuccessful grabs towards his personal book and missing consistently. Sheepish, he gave up trying to grab the thing and awkwardly let Murdoc fiddle with the locked strap running across the circumference of it. "Well, yeah," he admitted, feeling safe that the key to open it was tucked away safely inside the interior pocket of his raincoat. "Jus' in case I forget something or wan' to write anything down..."

Murdoc sighed. Unamused, he tossed the book back in 2D's direction and gave him a sarcastic glare. "You're not suggesting that you're goin' ta take this whole 'therapy' business seriously, are you?"

Slipping, 2D's face fell. He seemed to consider his options and then asked innocently, "but, Muds, 'ow else am I supposed ta take it?"

"Do you even know what therapy is, Two Dents?"

"Well, yeah," 2D bemused. "I 'ad ta go ta therapy for three months after I woke up from that coma ta learn 'ow to use my legs and everyfing..."

Murdoc Niccals, he thrust his newly throbbing head into the palms of his hands and ran them over the front of his green face. "Shit," he mumbled to himself, ignoring the confused 2D at his side. "For fuck's sake..." At first he was certain he could handle a couple of weeks worth of therapy with Noodle and Russel, but sharing a room for hours on end with 2D was going to be a bit of an issue. He mentally kicked himself for even showing up at the building in the first place, despite knowing that Russel Hobbs would have absolutely murdered him if he didn't. Besides, the big man had paid to fly them out there once he'd heard of this therapist, this Dr. Bote.

Over the flight, Russel hadn't stopped talking about Bote, either. Apparently, the man was the best of his kind and that he'd been recommended by thousands. And since Gorillaz certainly had garnered enough money to pay for his services, Russel had wasted no time in booking him. In reality, Murdoc found it all immensely stupid. He'd called the entire outburst a waste of valuable time, and almost found himself missing even the rotting corpses back at Kong. Thus, they'd spent the night in their own hotel rooms and planned to meet one another at the office in the early morning. Murdoc goraned continuously; this whole damn thing was turning out to be a bloody spectacle. Certainly the rest of his band members needed some find tuning, but he, Murdoc Niccals, he was golden. What the fuck was he doing in the God forsaken place?

The door opposite the four creaked open and Murdoc glanced up from the tiny spaces between his finger tips. Russel's eyes cracked open and Noodle sat up straight at the edge of the chair she had been previously slouching in. At his side, 2D jumped up wildly as if someone in the room had made a move to draw out a weapon. Instinctively, Murdoc thrust his smoking cigarette into the ashtray and outed it on impact. But his rash actions went rather unnoticed as the shadow didn't move at the door in front of them. "Mr. Hobbs?" the voice at the threshold croaked, revealing itself to be not a deranged psychopath, but their pudgy figure of a therapist.

Dressed in a tacky button up suit, clad with a lame combover, Murdoc felt the urge to both laugh at the man, and hurl the little ash tray at him. He looked like a mixture of a madman himself, and a pompous little shit. In a matter of moments, Murdoc's guilty expression shifted back to a familiarly unfriendly scowl. "Mr. Niccals, Noodle, Mr. Pot," the heavy-set man exclaimed softly, "if you'll come in please." Then he took a slightly excessive amount of steps backwards into his office and gestured out his hands towards the four of them.

Murdoc groaned slightly to himself, "I'd rather not," and Russel made a fast grab towards the back of his shirt, hoisting him to his feet responsively.

In a line, with Russel in the far lead, Murdoc and the others followed groggily. But even from the center of the miserable parade, Murdoc could see the finches behind Russel's white eyes and noted intelligently that he was already beginning to spot ghosts in the lingeringly pathetic cornflower walls. Dually, the eyes in the back of his head could spot Noodle. Every so often in their short step into the depths of the office, she would glance back towards 2D and offer him a helpful smile. She did not notice, however, 2D wince with the onset of a headache, and pop a handful of multicolored painkillers into his quivering mouth.

Thus, Murdoc looked back into the blackness that was soon to be Bote's office space. Perhaps Russel was right on one thing, and one thing only. All things considered, perhaps the lot of them did need a bit of help after all.


	2. Manila

**Psychic City:** I am so happy for all the reviews I've gotten for just the first chapter. And I always update after ten reviews per chapter, so all the feedback came as a nice surprise for me! Thank you so much to **HideSeekKeep, Far Far Away, Missy Chanel, Missy Elle, Lively McBrighten, MCLanna, Le Candeh, ElectrycMunky, Va Vonne, **and **k.d.a**. I always appreciate your feedback, whether its good or bad, so don't hesitate to leave me your thoughts, comments, or questions!

Anyway, I've been receiving some messages on when I will update 'Dead End Blues' and I am trying to finish the next chapter as soon as possible. Sorry! Give me time, but I promise I won't forget about it!

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**Chapter Two:**  
**Manila **

Noodle tried to look polite as she mentally considered every possibility of what could go wrong during the course of these therapy sessions. She chewed her thin bottom lip and glanced around at the figures of the three men in front of her. Each wonky and ruggid in their own way, they each sat variously, either slouched, stiff, or ready. These men, these four lost souls that she had been with since she was a child, they reflected back to her only the most disgraceful image of having grown bitter, stupid, and old.

At her far left sat Murdoc, who'd taken to propping his feet up against the footstool opposite him and positioning his hands at the back of his black messy moptop. By obvious standards, he was the bitter of the three, and his cocky grin gave him away unquestionably. Nonetheless, he grinned a right sarcastic one at Russel and, for good measure, whacked 2D across the back of his blue head before nodding pompously to the pudgy therapist as if to grant him starter's permission.

2D glanced sideways back at Russel as if to check for approval. And maybe he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he certainly had a bit of charm about him. Though Noodle was fifteen, hardly old enough to have been considered anything other than 2D's friend. Still, she'd assumed that the blue hair singer hadn't a clue about her tendency towards him and, quite honestly, she'd liked it that way. Thus, she had considered his thickness more of a blessing than a curse.

She unattatched herself from 2D momentarily, leaving him to fiddle uneasily with his small black diary. She scrutinized Russel last. Though he was not the eldest of the three men, his hallucinations had certainly aged him. Even in the lack of light she could spot the heavy bags under his white eyes and the concern-lines beneath the bill of his red hip hop hat. Earlier in the afternoon when he'd woken her up from her seperate hotel room, he'd said softly, "don't worry about a thing. Now show Russ a smile, baby-girl."

So, she spread a toothy smile across her half hidden face and waited for Russel to lean forward, take the fat man's thick hand, and start, "Dr. Bote, its a pleasure. I've heard so much about you."

Fat, lumpy, and proper, the man across from the four nodded excellently. A smile graced his pudgy face and, shrugging modestly, he then contradicted himself by saying aloud, "I'm not surprised. Last I checked I had been in an ample amount of magazines, Mr. Hobbs. I'm assuming you'd heard of me from _The Chronicle? _They've been doing a recent study lately on superb therapists, and I'm fairly sure that I've come up in top spot for what's going on..." graciously, he did a double take at the clock above his head, "five months now."

Murdoc huffed. The nonchalant vain posture he had taken to himself before had tripled and, gesturing back towards the therapist wildly, he tossed Russel a sarcastic little grin. The look on his face signified that he was rather unimpressed, however he did not further vocalize his unease. Instead, his glare at Russel showed that he was certainly ready to let the larger man do such work. "Er- no, not exactly, man," Russel hummed, reaching a hand behind himself and scratching his bald head. Dr. Bote's pompous face faltered minutely. "Actually," clarified Russel, "a friend of mine recommended you after I'd brought up therapy as an option for the band. Several years down the line, you saw my friend. Del."

"Ah," Dr. Bote mused. He seemed to have been silenced ever so slightly and Murdoc's grin spread even wider across his pale green visage. Nonetheless, the fat therapist shifted, and regained himself as professionally as possible. Despite having been knocked down a collection of pegs, he readjusted his glasses and itched himself at the end of his round jaw. "And, how is Del, Mr. Hobbs?"

"He's dead."

"Ah."

A bout of shaky chilliness overtook the room and Russel finally glanced away from the fat man at his front and stared at his lap. In the awkwardness, Noodle felt a rise of sympathy in her chest and, glancing over towards Murdoc, she could even see that the look of sarcasm on his face had faded. 2D ran a hand through his hair and breathed out, dropping his focus from the little black diary in the instant. Even seated at the chair he was in, he sat so that his knees were locked towards one another and, at the sadness of Russel, he looked as if he were about to be almost physically sick.

Dr. Bote smoothed out the front of his cheesy little shirt. He crossed and uncrossed his thick legs and then, guiltily, he managed to say out loud, "my apologies, Mr. Hobbs. I didn't know." Sluggishly, Russel shrugged and, with a flick of his hand, waved it off as it the event had been nothing to worry about it. Still, gaping, Murdoc tossed up his arms before flopping back into the headrest of his seat and shutting his eyes forcefully. "I'd, uh, I'd like to get started, then." The man quipped, clearing his throat.

Through the windows of his shut eyes, Murdoc Niccals rolled aronud his pupils. He scoffed, "well, doc, that would be ideal, now wouldn't it?" but aside from 2D's upward glance, his quiff went further unnoticed. Still, Dr. Bote redirected himself and only sent a smile in Murdoc's direction before turning to his notes.

An entire packet of four separate folders, the cluster of paper in Dr. Bote's sausage fingers looked organized and daunting. Pages of thin white paper folded back over one another, held together by shinning silver staples and thick, structured paper clips. Noodle's emerald eyes caught sight of the files, feeling a sudden drop in the pit of her stomach. She could see the glistening shimmer of photograph paper, and was certain she could see the edge of a picture that was undoubtedly a snapshot of herself. On the very edge of the manila folder tab was her single name, printed there in perfect block letters.

Noodle's eyes slipped over to Russel, who hadn't looked up from the center of his lap since the strange back and forth conversation that had so dropped his mood. And with Murdoc's eyes still shut, she then found the chance to glance back over towards 2D. The blue haired man, however, seemed to have already noticed the files, as well. The dual black voids that sat at the place where his eyes should have been had narrowed themselves and an entirely new look of pallor overtook his face.

2D gestured cautiously towards the beige folders at Dr. Bote's puffy chest. "Wot's tha'?" he asked with a morose expression that made Murdoc's eyes flicker back open.

"These are you files. Separate files, Mr. Pot." Dr. Bote glanced at 2D with half-lidded eyelids. There was something about his demeanor that was testy, as if he were staring at 2D in an analytical sort of manner. "It's standard procedure, Mr. Pots," he said again continuously.

Murdoc's eyes did a little flicker and then, twitching, he flung his wrist outwards back towards the therapist constructively. "Well," he said, pushing himself forward. He rest his elbows on the caps of his knees and licked his lips with his snake-like tongue. "Let's see 'em then."

Dr. Bote pulled the folders back. "Im afraid that's against the rules, Mr. Niccals," he stated and then, to further demonstrate his seriousness, he placed three of the folders back behind him into the drawer of his dresser, locking it after him. "But I'd like to begin with Russel, if that's quite alright with the rest of you." In his hands, Russel's folder stood out carefully and, noting his defeat, Murdoc slipped backwards conclusively. However, the flicker behind his mismatched eyes showed that he was not over the folder business. Mischievous and flashing, Murdoc's eyes found the therapist and kept his gaze locked there in a stone-like manner.

"By all means," Murdoc drawled, lifting himself up from his seat. He positioned his hands on his narrow hips and looked down at Dr. Bote significantly. "Does that mean that I am done here?"

"For the time being, Mr. Niccals," Dr. Bote nodded slowly. "But I'd like to have you back tomorrow in the morning and Miss Noddle in the afternoon. I'm thinking that individual sessions would further allow me to analyze the situation that the four of you have in a more-"

Murdoc's face crunched up curiously. He did not hesitate in cutting Bote off mid sentence and, upon doing so, he shifted his light weight drastically. Sticking out his crooked thumb, he jabbed his long fingernail in the direction of the figure next to him. "Right," he interrupted greedily, looking messy in his black outfit and his disobedient hair, "what about the dullard?"

"Who?" Dr. Bote looked at 2D, but seemed to have a hard time understanding the bassist in front of him.

"2D."

Bote's expression shifted. "Ah, Mr. Pot," he said, turning back to the singer lightly, "I'd like to see you the following afternoon." Then, back to Russel, he asked, "I trust the lot of you are in town for quite some time, am I right?"

Murdoc opened his mouth to falsely protest, but Russel was the first to answer within the instant. "We'll be here for as long as it takes," he said and Murdoc's posture slackened. As he stood up on the carpeted floor his facial expression dropped and, hissing a sigh, he made a sarcastic little bow and stalked off heavily to the door.

Noodle, on the other hand, took her time to get to a stand point. She fiddled uneasily at the hem of her shirt and then, with a polite nod, she took to her own stance, glancing down at 2D as she waited for him to do the same. The blue haired man, however, had his focus drawn to something else. His black eyes looked intensely at the locked dresser drawer and, pale, he looked as if yet another headache were about to sneak up on him. "For fuck's _sake_, faceache" Murdoc hissed from the frame of the door, yanking spastically on the end of his sleeve, "we don't have all day."

Thus, the petrified little singer garnered the strength to glance away from the drawer and, swallowing, nodded nervously back up at Murdoc. Still, he stumbled away from the chair in a delirious structure that made him appear almost completely intoxicated. Under his breath, Murdoc Niccals muttered a single fit of obscenities before slipping back away through the threshold and shutting the door in the dark.

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Murdoc Niccals was sitting in the dark, his lower torso pitched underneath the sheets of the hotel bed, and his slender arm up against the remote to the telly. He had been clustered against the hard white bed mattress for what had been going on an hour, yet sleep still had not come easy to him. The outside weather had been a fair downpour and he was certain that Russel had come home from his individual therapy session hours ago, though he'd not heard much from the drummer himself.

He had felt a bit more comfort in the fact that Russel had sent him a short text message over the course of the evening and, satisfied, Murdoc had powered down his phone and stuffed it underneath his pillow for the night. Sill, what Murdoc could not get off his mind was the thought of the beige files, and his own personal one especially. He could already feel the notion of its pure existence eating away at him from underneath the flimsy little covers. Yet, unamused, he continued in his staring contest with the blazing telly. Over the course of the rather uneventful night, he had succumbed to a lifeless flicking through the channels and had, much to his dismay, come up with nothing truly worth actually watching. Still, with his mind numbed at the thought of his own personal record in the hands of some old, fat, snooping therapist, he maintained the steady ability to settle with the news and run with it.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

The soft rattle at the exterior surface of Murdoc's hotel room door was enough to send his bloodshot eyes swiveling around in the darkness. Bitterly, he shifted, eying the door with full force, yet remaining still through the process. His eyes found the clock at the corner of the wall in the room and then wandered back to the program on the television set. Thus, mulling over the situation, he spent a good amount of time remaining beneath the blankets and deciding whether or not the news program was just dull enough to make him actually get up and answer his visitor in the first place.

The news program flipped to a commercial and, sighing, Murdoc concluded that he really didn't have much of a choice. He lifted his groggy feet from the covers and dragged them against the carpeted floor with a hefty yawn that was, by all means, quite sincere. He passed the mirror in nothing other than his boxers, and made a fast grab for the packet of fags at the coffee table by the entrance. In the darkness he felt his way to the knob of the thing and, unlocking it at the top, finally pulled the heavy door open. His eyes scanned the brightly lit hallway before him before they found the blue haired figure slouched up close at his vision. Murdoc's face soured. "Fuck," he muttered.

"'Ello."

In an old blue baseball shirt and a pair of faded gray sweat pants, 2D looked both between the state of being half-conscious and questionably intoxicated. The void eyes at the front of his head stared helplessly at Murdoc for a moment before a look of slight worry overtook the kid's tainted face. Murdoc, however, did not move from the doorframe. Instead, he remained to be what was perhaps the singer's only obstacle towards entering the bassist's bedroom in the first place. "What are you doing?" Murdoc finally asked, running a green hand over his equally green face. He was, admittedly, far too tired and preoccupied with the thought of his own files to engage in any sort of useless conversation with 2D. Only, he managed to shift his weight and rather impatiently wait for a sufficient answer from the man.

2D fiddled nervously with his fingers. He didn't attempt to stride forward, but in the intense light of the hotel hallway, Murdoc could tell that he had been wrong before: 2D had not been drinking whatsoever. The white light showed that the glaze around 2D's black eyes were only present due to the singer's lack of sleep and, feeling as if he was wasting his time, Murdoc only raised his brows to further force him to get on with it. "I couldn't sleep," 2D eventually whispered, bending down slightly to whisper as a couple walked by them arm in arm. They glanced over their shoulder at the sight of two famous men, and Murdoc felt a rise of anger bubble up inside him as he considered how the situation might look at the moment.

"You've got your sleeping pills, Faceache," he hissed, stepping back to shut the door for the final time in the night. However, 2D lunged forward, groping at the edge of the door protestingly. He noticed Murdoc's intense scowl, however, and bounced away from the door as if the wood had spontaneously caught on fire.

Stuart Pot plummeted his hands into the pockets of his sweat pants and looked sincere as he took another single step backwards. "Sorry," he said looking down as the presence of the couple vanished around the corner. Alone again, he continued cautiously, "I... jus' mean tha' I 'aven't heard from Russel an' I was getting worried."

Murdoc's eyes narrowed. Breathing out, he loosened his shoulders and pressed his head against the doorframe. He could not truly fathom the amount of exhaustion that swelled mercilessly through his body, and yet he found himself less able to find the strength to deal with the thirty-two year old child. "He's fine, 'D. He sent me a text message a while ago and he's gone to bed."

The man's face lit up hopefully. "'E said that everyfink went okay, then?"

"He said he's going to bed," Murdoc repeated, aggravated.

"But wot about those files?"

In the doorframe of his hotel room, Murdoc froze. He analyzed the worried man from head to toe swiftly and he lifted his weary head from the edge of the wall completely. Still, he lifted a single finger, retreated back into the contents of his bedroom, and retrieved for himself a pair of his own dirty trousers and whichever shirt his fingers found first. It only took him a matter of seconds to dress himself and, before he knew it, he had shut the door behind him and stood ready before 2D with a malicious smile across his face. Despite looking only fractionally presentable, Murdoc extended his arms and took on the structure of appearing pristine. "You know, 'D," he said slyly, diving into the pocket of his pants and revealing a packet of fresh cigarettes, "I've been thinking a bit about those files, too."

Kindly and out of character, Murdoc offered up the pack to his hazy looking partner, who took a stick graciously and slipped it between his mouth. He didn't even seem to think it odd when Murdoc then reached back into his pocket for his lighter and generously lit the thing up for him. Nonetheless, 2D took a long and well needed drag before turning back to Murdoc and asking shakily, "yeah?"

"'Course," Murdoc scoffed, looping a free hand around 2D's shoulders and clamping him gently on the back. Despite being utterly exhausted, Murdoc Niccals saw the situation for what it was almost instantly. 2D was easy enough to manipulate and Murdoc took it as a considerably sufficient time to do so. Thus, decisive, he took a new drag and, for the first time in a long time, blew the smoke away from 2D's face. "And, you know what I've been thinking?" Curious, 2D bent down a bit lower and raised his eyebrows. "I've been thinking that we need to get ahold of these files, man."

2D's face scrunched up. "Wot do you mean?" he asked as his feet permitted the bassist to lead him further down the hallway towards his own private bedroom.

Still, Murdoc kept his calm. "I mean," he said softly, whispering as they passed the cluster of vacationer's bedrooms, "that you certainly don't want some sketchy old doctor having access to all of your personal shit, do you?" There was a slight pause and then 2D shook his head, feeling insecure as a new bout of concern seeped back into his head. He hadn't quite noticed that he had been led back to the front door of his room and did not protest when Murdoc reached into his pocket and pulled out the key card for him.

"No!" 2D half yelped, rather terrified. Although he had been anxious about the files in the first place, he had not even begun to ponder the possibility of what the files contained. Dr. Bote, whomever he was, had access to everything and anything he wanted to know about him, and the pure thought of that made 2D nervous. And whatever relaxation had come to him before instantly flushed itself out of him. Jittery and freshly anxious, he chewed his bottom lip as he prayed that his file's contents would not wind up posted on the internet or in some tabloid for the whole world to see.

"Exactly, 2D, exactly!" he continued as the door opened. He took instant note of the pale look that 2D sported and felt a ping of accomplishment rush through him. "Which is why I need you to take them back."

Murdoc fiddled with the handle and swung the thing open, releasing 2D upon impact. "Take 'em back?" 2D asked, though he hadn't pushed himself through the door. Instead, he stood before Murdoc, scratching his blue head in a confused and sort of lingering manner that put the bassist in only that much more of a hurry. "'Ow would I do tha'...?"

"I dunno, mate," Murdoc sighed, seizing 2D by the shoulders and directing him back into his bedroom. In the dark space, 2D glanced around his familiar surroundings and gave Murdoc an uneasy grimace as he pulled the cigarette still smoking from his mouth. Then, as if to conclude to conversation altogether, Murdoc backed away and gave 2D a heartfelt shrug. He puffed away from his cigarette and glanced back in the direction down the hallway towards his bedroom, and a major part of him longed for his mattress. "Find a way."

Thus, he leaned forward and pulled the singer's bedroom door harshly shut, finally able to scramble back towards his own room within the instant. A deep feeling of accomplishment and pride filled his spirits as he turned back to the still glaring television set and repositioned himself beneath the sheets. He pushed the remaining contents of his cigarette into the astray nearest him and leaned back, feeling like a rock in the covers that rest on top of his numb torso. "_There,"_ his sleepy mind told himself, thinking about his gullible singer, _"problem solved."_


End file.
